The Eighth Bell
by Ghost7
Summary: The Weeper has followed Prince Sameth into the realm of dreams to reveal to him a secret kept only within the waters of Death. He has been chosen to craft the eighth bell. New chapter up! Please R&R, thanks so much!
1. Dreamer

Most of the below is credited towards the outstanding author, Garth Nix, and his Old Kingdom Trilogy, except for a few new things. I apologize if any of the facts are incorrect, or if any names are misspelled. Garth Nix rocks:)  
  
Please read and review! Thanks!  
  
The Eighth Bell  
  
Chapter I  
  
Deep within the terrible labyrinths of the shadowy forest, cloaked within the black night air, Sameth stood with a stillness only achieved by those who've been petrified by fear. His eyes strained in the darkness to see what was silently approaching ahead, tiptoeing through the tall grass, with a graceful stealth and an aura darker than the night.  
  
There was a young woman gliding across the forest floor, quietly walking towards Sam. She cast a golden light over her head, and he caught a glimpse of who--or what--she was.   
  
She stood tall and thin, draped in white clothing, with long, midnight hair framing her pallid face. Although her features were hard, her eyes remained soft and blue.   
  
"Prince Sameth," she cried, with alarming urgency. Her voice shook through his body, rendering him helpless. "You shall call me Nioma, although my real name cannot be uttered in these woods. Please, help me," she howled. The trees trembled, and the ground shook. Her face was no more than a few deadly inches away from his ghastly pale countenance, contorted into a look of absolute fear. For a brief moment, he had detected the faint odor of amaranth and rosemary in the air. "Please, help me, Sameth. There is no one else left who can. You must help me. Please." This time, she whispered, and a single tear fell from her sad eyes.   
  
Nioma took his hands in hers. "Wallmaker...you're the only who can help me," she wailed. Suddenly, the forest flashed white, and she was gone--disappeared. At least, until Sam fell back to sleep.  
  
He woke up in a sweat, and turned on all the lights, even though it was almost noontime. "Just a dream..." he mumbled to himself before lying back down. He had been having the same nightmare for a week, now. Paying no heed to the dreams, Sam rubbed his tired eyes.  
  
Suddenly, Ellimere barged through the door. "Ooo, good, you're awake. Well, that's a surprise...Anyways, you're going to miss lunch as well as breakfast if you don't get dressed, right away."  
  
"What's the hurry?" he muttered.  
  
"Mother and Father have just arrived, silly. I told you that they were coming last night!" Sam's face brightened, as Ellimere left and ran down to the dining hall to greet them. Sam got dressed as quickly as he could and rushed down the stairs, sprinting into the dining room.  
  
"Sam!" Sabriel and Touchstone exclaimed, embracing him.   
  
Suddenly, his elation was interrupted. Standing quietly behind them, a tall figure with long, black hair had appeared. Nioma had arrived. "Sam...what is it? What's wrong?" asked Sabriel, noticing his troubled appearance.  
  
"Nothing," he mumbled, just as Nioma disappeared once again. Was he still dreaming? No, he couldn't be. His mother's touch was real.   
  
"Well, then. Let us feast!" Sabriel said and smiled. Sam knew that he shouldn't keep anything from his parents, but Nioma was nothing but an illusion. He was just seeing things.   
  
The next night, when Prince Sameth drifted off to sleep, he saw Nioma again. But this time, they were standing in an endless gray river, the river of Death, in the eighth precinct. He saw her shape, surrounded by mist, carrying a man in her fragile arms. She fell to her knees in front of Sam, and kissed the man's pale cheek.   
  
"Sameth," she wailed, as her tears fell gently into the river. "Please, help me!" The man in her arms lifted his head. "You are the only one, Sameth. Please!" He smelled the strong odor of amaranth and rosemary on her breath once again, and knew at once who he was talking to.   
  
"Astarael," Sam whispered, and added, "the weeper."  
  
"No!" she shrieked. "Not by that name! I told you not to!" The man in her arms suddenly stroked her face and her rage had subsided. "Sam...please help me. Please, you must! Come closer and I will tell you what to do."  
  
He felt the pull of the river beg him to lie down, but he resisted.   
  
"You must craft the eighth bell, Sam. For his sake," she wept and looked down at the man in her arms. "You will know what to do," she said, and handed him a new bell, one a bit larger and much heavier than the seventh, but it was devoid of charter marks and crafted with little skill. "With this, you will know what to do. Go, Sam. And please, help me. For our sake," she cried as he awoke with a jolt. When he sat up, he realized that the bell was sitting on the edge of his bed, beside a pile of amaranth and rosemary.   
  
His hands trembled as he reached for the handle. 


	2. Dasion

Most of the below is credited towards the outstanding author, Garth Nix, and his Old Kingdom Trilogy, except for a few new things. I apologize if any of the facts are incorrect, or if any names are misspelled. Garth Nix rocks:)  
  
Chapter II  
  
An explosion of white light shook Sam's room as he touched the eighth bell, too afraid to release his grip. For a moment, he had felt a man standing behind him, watching his every movement. But when he turned, expecting to see another set of eyes staring back at him, there was nothing.  
  
Almost immediately, Sam pulled his focus towards the bell, as Charter marks flowed through his hand and into the cold metal. He stopped for a moment to combine the rosemary and amaranth with many unknown Charter marks, of which he had never seen before. But he felt as if he had known and used the marks all of his life-and beyond.   
  
Before he had time to contemplate, the herbs' odor was suddenly enhanced, filling the room, and flowing through Sam's lungs. It's scent begged for something, a thirst that had not been quenched. He was drawn towards the smell, enveloped in its magical fragrance, and suddenly felt a sharp pang of sadness impaling his heart. Before he knew what was happening, he was knelt over the bell in a spasm of tears, trying to subside the intense sorrow felt within. Images flashed before his eyes, reminding him of melancholy times in his past, freeing another sea of tears.   
  
Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor as the grief abruptly ceased and the images had disappeared. The distinct fragrance of rosemary and amaranth still hung in the air, but the actual herbs had infused within the bell. Sam stood slowly, and stared in awe at what he had created.   
  
The eighth bell sat quietly on the edge of his bed, begging him to ring it. Sam resisted, but touched the handle, freeing the name within.  
  
"Dasion," it whispered, speaking to Sam in a distant voice of truth. He touched the metal and felt a drop of water fall from the handle. Sam's tears were also infused within the bell, he realized.   
  
Lifting it carefully, making sure that its voice was muted, he heard several footsteps pounding up the stairs and into his room.  
  
"Sameth!" he heard his father yell. Sabriel and Touchstone stood in his doorway, staring at Sam with cold and angry eyes filled with rage.  
  
"Sam," Sabriel said and placed a cold hand on his shoulder. He looked at her and realized that he had done something wrong, something terrible, perhaps. Suddenly, he noticed why his mother was upset. For on her bell bandolier, there was an empty eighth pouch. "Can you explain this?" she asked and touched the leather pocket.   
  
Sam remained silent.   
  
"Speak!" Touchstone boomed. Sam was still silent, mostly from fear.   
  
"I'm sorry, son," said Sabriel suddenly growing quiet, noticing the tears in his eyes. "We haven't been around that often. But you are still my son, and I know when you are hiding something from me." Touchstone's rage had quieted as well, and he sniffed the air detecting the odor of rosemary and amaranth.  
  
"Mother," Sam whispered. "I've been having dreams. Astarael came to me and pulled my spirit into death..."  
  
"The Weeper?"  
  
"She told me to...to craft the..." his voice had faltered.   
  
"Sameth, what have you done?"  
  
"Dasion," Sam whispered to himself. "I have crafted the eighth bell."  
  
Please read and review! Thanks! And don't worry, everything will unfold in the next chapter:) 


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